by Jillian Hart
Cold, hard steel. That’s how he had to keep himself. Mason tied Lew Folsom’s horse to Deek’s lead line. Three of the other outlaws were dead, only one had been captured alive. With a bullet wound to the abdomen, no telling how long he’d last either. Mason blew out a heavy sigh, glad he wasn’t adding Callie’s body to the others. That one fear had driven him—he’d turned off everything else during the hair-raising chase and hunt. Only she mattered.
“We did good.” Deeks ambled up, gathered his reins. “We got all but two by my count.”
“Think they might be waiting at Black Wolf Bluff? I think it’s a possibility.” Mason planted his hands on his hips, taking in the scene of his men mounting up, horses, bodies and outlaws under control. He felt weary. Hell, they were all weary. They’d fought hard and ridden long today. Now, in the soft shade of the cottonwoods, he felt the exhaustion begin to settle in.
“I think so too.” Deeks toed his boot into his stirrup and rose into his saddle. “Mason, you take the little lady back, she trusts you the most. I’ll take the captives back to the jail, the rest of the men will ride on to the bluff. We’ll meet you in town tomorrow morning.”
“Good luck hunting.” He tipped his hat to his friend and colleague. Those two remaining members of the Folsom Gang didn’t have a chance with his men on their trail. Mason waved them off, watched as they followed the faint trail uphill, passing by Callie too. She stood at the creek bank, watching them quietly. Gratitude brightened her violet-blue eyes.
Yeah, he felt grateful too. Grateful they’d got to her in time. She was so precious. The space behind his ribs ached like a sore tooth as he whistled for Indigo. The black gelding pranced over, ready to get on the trail.
“We’re down to one horse.” He kept busy gathering the reins, laying them across Indigo’s neck so he wouldn’t have to look at her standing there in the scattered light, sweet and vulnerable, and so real. He kept his chest like stone—nothing could touch it. Not even her. It was called self-preservation. “Hope you don’t mind sharing.”
“It’s better than, say, walking back to town.” Her dulcet alto was light, held a note of amusement but hid something deeper. That deepness tugged at him, made him put up his defenses a little higher.
“Well, you’d be riding and I’d be the one walking then.” He managed what he hoped was a light tone, a man unaffected, a man as carefree as the breeze. “But it’s been a long day, so I appreciate being in that saddle.”
“I’ve always wanted to learn how to ride a horse.” Her skirts rustled, coming closer, her gait a light, rhythmic tap. “Maybe you could show me, if your gorgeous horse will allow it?”
“Let’s ask him.” Mason turned his back to her, bracing against her approach. The effort not to be affected by her felt like it was tearing him apart. Struggling, he patted his gelding’s neck. “What do you say, Indigo. Want to have a pretty lady handling your bits?”
Not that that had come out right, but at least Callie was laughing in her musical way, still the bright, shining woman she was meant to be. The Folsom brothers hadn’t taken that from her. Mason clenched his jaw, thankful for that, realizing too late that he’d laughed too.
She was changing him. He never used to laugh.
“Don’t worry, Indigo.” Callie sauntered over, rubbing her fingertips across the gelding’s velvet coat. “I’ll be gentle.”
Neither the gelding nor Mason had any doubt. He knelt, cupping his hands to give her a boost onto the saddle. She slipped her foot into his hand and he boosted her up, her petticoats rustling. It took all his effort to deny the tenderness rising through him. He didn’t want to care. He shook his head. Hell, it was too late for that. He cared, nothing seemed to be able to stop it. What he had to do now was find a way not to care too much. That’s the best he could hope for.
At least she would be leaving town tomorrow. He mounted up behind her and showed her how to hold the reins properly. She smelled like sunshine, and he breathed her in—he just couldn’t help it. He clamped an arm around her waist, holding her against him as the horse took off at a slow walk, the rock and roll of his gait moving her body against his. He gritted his teeth, but his iron will could not stop the desire heating his blood. It could not stop him from wondering how it would feel to have her in his arms, rocking her just like this.
Chapter Nine
“Ooh, I see berries.” A few hours later, Callie drew Indigo to a stop, pleased when he obeyed immediately, head up, waiting for her next command. What a good horse, she thought, fondly. Maybe she could get a horse of her own when she returned to Holbrook. It would be better than always having to rent an animal whenever they needed one, right? She frowned, biting her bottom lip.
Thinking about going home hurt. Home was no longer the sanctuary it once had been, and the reason why sat behind her, with one steely arm wrapped around her. Mason was the reason she didn’t want to leave. Remembering the other marshal’s advice not to get on the train tomorrow, she briefly wondered if she should heed it. But no, Mason wasn’t ready to love her. Even if he was holding her hips in the saddle and, as a consequence, holding her tight against him. His strong thighs pressed against hers. The hard wall of his chest felt hot against her spine. She definitely felt very warm—warm in a way she’d never been before. It truly was invigorating being plastered against him.
With a sigh, Mason moved away from her, dismounting, leaving her feeling oddly alone in the saddle. Grateful for the puff of the evening breeze, she loosened her sunbonnet and let it slide down her back, letting it dangle by its ties.
“This is a good place to stop and eat.” He didn’t look at her, for his Stetson was tipped at a low angle. All she could see was his dark jaw and the muscles straining there. He almost grinned. “I can hear your stomach growling.”
“Maybe that’s why those blackberries look so good.” She slid her foot down into the stirrup, took his hand and swung down. He seemed so remote, but the heat of his touch traveled through her, scorching her blood. She felt him pulling away even before his hand left hers. His boots shuffled on the rocky path as he strode into the sun, leaving her behind. The yearning she felt crescendoed unbearably.
Funny how physical distance between them didn’t change how she felt. Her body tingled, enlivened, from the past hours sitting tucked up against him, his thighs hot against hers, the v of his pelvis snuggled up against her backside. She’d been so close to him that she had felt his every breath. Indigo watched him go too, gave a sigh, and offered his nose for her to pet. How could she resist?
Brown horsy eyes blinked up at her, rimmed by black curly lashes. Indigo gave a small nicker deep in his throat when her fingertips grazed his muzzle. As if content, he let his lashes drift shut and stood swaying as she stroked his velvet-soft nose. She caressed circles on the white spot between his eyes and then reached up to fluff his forelock off his sweaty forehead. The poor guy melted beneath her touch, shuffled forward until the length of his face was pressed against her from chest to abdomen. He seemed lonely, poor guy.
And that’s when she understood what was driving Mason. He kept a safe distance from everyone, including his horse. She bit the inside of her cheek, considering. He’d lost everything he loved once. Was he afraid to care about anyone ever again? Or did he just not seem to realize what he was doing?
“The berries look nice and ripe.” His voice thundered through the peaceful quiet of the serene evening. Finches and sparrows sang mellow tunes from the meadow. A water bird warbled from the nearby cottonwoods. The breeze had died down to a lazy wheeze that stirred a few sunflowers and a grove of daisies tucked amid crackling dry grasses. In the shade, blackberry vines tumbled over each other, high as a wagon bed. Mason plucked a few berries, filling the cup of his palm.
“C’mon,” she told Indigo, leading him by the touch of her fingertips against his cheek. The gelding moseyed along beside her until he reached the shade where soft green grass grew. This close to Mason, Callie’s skin started to shiver again,
extra sensitive. He turned to her.
“Here. You get the first taste.” He inspected the berry first, very gentlemanly of him to look for any stray bugs, before holding it up for her, aiming for her mouth.
Her pulse quickened, her lips parted. The succulent, pulled-tight skin of the berry touched first, then the rasp of Mason’s calloused fingers. His touch hesitating there, on her lip, and his pupils dilated until there was only black and his breathing hitched.
So, he felt this too. Encouraged, she curled her lips around the berry, drawing it in. Mason let go. The tart-sweet tang of blackberry exploded across her tongue and she shivered, staring into his eyes, black with desire.
An answering desire fluttered low in her belly. She really shouldn’t be feeling this way, not for a man who couldn’t give her his heart, but she couldn’t help it. It was beyond her control. The breeze gusted just enough to give her a little puff on her back, as if nature itself was pushing her toward him. Her feet moved of their own accord, as if it was inevitable, and she knew she would never be the same again.
“Delicious.” She helped herself to another berry cupped in his warm palm and lifted it up to him. “Your turn.”
His black gaze shone, took on depth and life. He leaned down and his lips seared against her fingertips as he took the berry into his mouth. She shivered hard, all the way down to her toes. He chewed, watching her all the while, moving in to close the small distance between them. His shoes bumped hers, his hips pressed against hers. He was hard and male-hot everywhere. Goodness. She breathed in, realized it came more as a moan than a gasp. His free hand caught her chin, holding her face upturned to his. He didn’t give her time to panic or rejoice, suddenly his mouth clamped over hers in a possessive, branding kiss.
He was like fire burning through her. Callie moaned at the sizzling sensations, the caress of his upper lip against her bottom one, the rough tug as he broke away, ending the kiss, glaring down at her, breathing hard. So many shadows and feelings hid there in the dark depths of his gaze, but not his desire for her. No, that flickered brightly. He lowered his head, taking her mouth again, wrapping his arms around her, hauling her fully against him. A low beat throbbed in her stomach, coursed through her veins, and her body responded.
So this is what a real kiss was like, she thought. Overpowering, exhilarating, and not nearly enough. She wanted more, she needed to be closer to him. Wrapping her arms around his neck wasn’t enough. Pressing up against the contours of his body wasn’t enough. She felt lost, spellbound by the playful nip of his lips on hers, the rough caresses and gentle strokes, and when he demanded it, she opened to feel his tongue sweep over hers.
Acute, wonderful sensation quivered everywhere he touched. She’d never experienced anything like it before. He dropped the berries, they landed with a plop on the ground and Indigo moved in to eat them, bridle jingling, but no one paid him any heed. Mason’s large hand clamped on her bottom and pulled her harder against his groin, and they both groaned. She was lost in him, absorbed by him. His breath was hers. She had no idea how much time had passed. Her body came alive, the tingles became fire and heat, a pounding hunger for him.
When he lifted his lips from hers, he was breathing hard and every inch of her quivered. She knew that right now, in this moment, he was closer to her than he’d been to anyone in a long, long time. That touched her, made it impossible to hold back the loving feelings she harbored. They broke like an ocean wave crashing onto shore, pulling her under and out to sea where there was no solid ground, nothing, just the two of them, lost beneath a Montana sky, forever.
“Got carried away there.” He pulled back and pressed his forehead to hers, wincing as if with regret, but happiness warmed his words. “Guess you weren’t protesting too badly though.”
“No.” Her entire body ached with a physical hurt, a let down, as he moved away. She hated that he’d stopped, that this closeness had to end. “I noticed you weren’t either.”
“True.” A smile crooked his mouth, hinting at dimples. He removed one of his .45s from his holster and handed it to her. “I’m going to go hunt down supper. Put this in your dress pocket and keep Indigo close. It should be safe out here, the last members of the gang are likely two canyons over and knowing my men, are safely captured by now. But just in case there’s any sign of trouble, shoot it into the air and I’ll come running. Get on Indigo’s back and stay moving until I get to you.”
“I can handle that.” She took a step and bumped into Indigo’s shoulder. “What do you think, handsome guy?”
The gelding gave an amiable nicker, as if he was happy to oblige.
“Okay, then.” Mason tipped his hat low against the long, low rays of the sun, grabbed his rifle from the saddle holster and strode off, a lone shadow on the wild landscape.
The tranquil, mellow light of evening spread all around him, as if the earth were at peace. Good to know something was. Mason checked the cartridges in his rifle, resting it on his arm, eyes sharp. Up ahead in the soft stretch of a high country meadow, two tawny ears pricked up above the hip high grasses, brown eyes appraising him.
A doe, he realized. Likely she had a fawn or two with her. He turned away, scouting for another prospect, in too much turmoil for the quiet concentration he needed to hunt.
No, his guts felt all twisted up, his chest too tight to breathe. Agony seared through him like a downdraft, all from that kiss that never should have happened. So much for his iron will. She’d tasted like blackberries and paradise. She’d felt even better wrapped up against him, her softness against his hardness, a torment in his blood. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the drum of arousal in his groin, willing it down.
When he turned around, he could see her across the curve and bow of the land, a slender willow draped in iris-blue, her blond hair a riot of curls down her back, picking blackberries. Indigo stood guard beside her, lowering his head to nibble from her hand every once in a while. Softer feelings warred inside. Funny how those gentle feelings could be stronger than the defenses he’d built against them.
Reassured that she was safe, he tromped down the slope, out of sight. The doe watching him tensed, bolted away in the grass, a swift flash of tan back and bobbed tail, twin fawns trailing her. Hand on his rifle, he forced his thoughts ahead of him and not behind. His stomach grumbled, reminding him of his mission. He hunkered down, casting for any tracks in the dusty earth. He spotted several little bird feet prints in the dirt, but nothing more. Better keep walking.
He breathed in the scent of late-summer grass and the crisp, acrid scent of sunflowers, their yellow petals raised skyward. He watched a golden eagle lift its magnificent wings against the stunning sky, disappearing in the long shafts of the mellow, evening-sweet light. But as far as he walked, he couldn’t cool his blood, he couldn’t forget kissing Callie. He tried to make himself the man he had to be, one with unassailable self-control. No way could he go back to her, wanting her like this. Not until he could resist the urge to lay her back in the soft wildflower-studded grass and show her the way a man loved a woman.
He blew out a sigh. That wasn’t helping either. His need for her wasn’t the issue here. She was the issue. Her needs, her safety, getting her back home. That was his job, what he’d fought so hard for today. He clutched his rifle, stopping in his tracks, shook his head at himself. He’d almost missed the paw prints in the dirt. Very fresh tracks, by the look of them.
With his jaw clenched and willing away every inappropriate thought of Callie he’d ever had, he rose quietly, moved stealthily and went to claim their supper.
The sun had sunk so low in the sky, it almost touched the mountains when Callie spotted Mason’s silhouette on the nearby rise. His hat sat at a dangerous angle, rifle resting against his shoulder, carrying his catch in one hand. The peaceful sky backlit him, its fading light drawing him in shades of black. He moved closer, out of the hillside’s shadows, taking on shape and color. The high, angular slice of his cheekbones, the blade of his nose,
the blue of his eyes and shirt. His long shadow fell across her.
“You started a fire.” He seemed surprised, pleased, his dimples cutting into his lean cheeks. “A good cooking fire.”
“Hey, I know what I’m doing.” She felt as if a hand had reached into her chest and squeezed her lungs tight, driving out every bit of air. Maybe because her lips still buzzed with the memory of his incredible kiss. How could a girl ever forget that? She didn’t know. Likely she would remember his kiss in vivid detail until her dying day. She tossed in another stick, and the fire hissed and popped. “Before our grandfather died, he would take us hunting. Not that any of us could actually kill anything, but we had a lot of fun setting up camp and cooking over the fire.”
“I never would have guessed that, a pretty, dainty thing like you.” He slung the rabbit carcass over one of the stones ringing the flames. Already skinned, gutted and cleaned, the meat was stretched out on slim branches stripped of their leaves, ready to roast. “How long did you live with your grandfather?”
“For about three fantastic years. Gramps was a shy, gentle soul, so considerate to others, especially our grandmother.” Callie couldn’t help the wistful sigh that escaped. She brushed bits of bark and dirt off her hands and stood, melting inside with love. “They took us in after our parents died of brain fever. I was eight years old and terribly hurt, with having lost Ma and Pa so suddenly. We were in pain, all my sisters and I. But then Gramps and MeMe came to fetch us, and I could see some of my father in them. Even though we didn’t know them, they felt like family right from the start. They took us to their farm in Nebraska.”
“You light up when you talk about them.” Mason knelt down, hunkered in, his jaw at ease, dark and textured with whisker stubbles. “You loved them.”
“Very much. They were good people.” She’d never forget how understanding they’d been, how they’d helped all five sisters through their grief. “They got us to laugh again, to live again. In time, our childhood returned to almost normal with school and friends. Then they were gone too, first MeMe, then Gramps.”
